


Musical

by lovecatcadillac



Category: Bomb Girls
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-23
Updated: 2012-05-23
Packaged: 2017-11-05 21:20:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,932
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/411136
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lovecatcadillac/pseuds/lovecatcadillac
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>February 1943. A glimpse of things to come.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Musical

**Author's Note:**

> So many people have done such a terrific job exploring how Kate might return to Toronto and come to terms with liking the ladies. I thought it would be interesting to write a Kate who is more self-possessed, but still on a journey of discovery, contending with some of the practicalities of dating a woman (such as labels, gay culture/slang, and sex). There’s some fairly 1940s gender constructs discussed in here (namely the idea that two women who both wear dresses/pants shouldn’t date, or that ladies who wear dresses don’t top during sex), so if that’s likely to perturb or upset you, it may be best to skip this one. This can be read in the same “universe” as my other Kate fics. Needless to say, this will probably become AU over the next few seasons of Bomb Girls.
> 
> Disclaimer: All characters belong to Michael Maclennan and Adrienne Mitchell/Shaw Media.

The first time Kate, Betty and Gladys went to the Tangiers Club, to watch Leon’s band play, it was like stepping into a different world. Kate had thought Sandy Shores was, to paraphrase Betty’s words, the dirtiest of hops, but Tangiers made it look like a church picnic. Alcohol flowing freely, a jazz band wailing onstage, blacks and whites drinking and talking and even dancing together – this was every place she had ever been forbidden from going. What was disquieting, though, was how much Kate wanted to fit in.

That, and the presence of so many women in pants.

As Kate slipped off her coat, her eyes travelled from Leon (who was currently absorbed in playing the trumpet) to a tall, rangy woman standing at the foot of the stage. She was dressed in pants, men’s dress shoes, a collared shirt and a tie. It was the most extraordinary get-up Kate had ever seen on a woman. Even Betty didn’t wear ties.

Gladys had whirled away to dance with a soldier almost as soon as they had entered the club. As the band’s song ended, she returned to her friends, looking prettily flushed, which was as close as Gladys Witham (of the Witham’s Grocery Chain Withams) ever got to breaking a sweat. “It’s like dancing in a crowded elevator in here!”

Kate was so overwhelmed with nerves that she almost did something silly like openly pointing at the woman wearing a tie and blurting, _“Look, Betty, it’s another you.”_ It was at that moment that a nod of recognition passed between the two women, and it became obvious that Betty had already noticed. Kate suddenly felt she was intruding on something private. She tried her best to concentrate on Leon, who was looking so dashing it would put Cary Grant to shame, and not on her rising fear that she would do something wrong and end up making Betty regret suggesting the excursion altogether.

Although Gladys had been even slower to enter the club than Kate, she was clearly having a whale of a time. “You have such hep friends, Betty!”

“Whaddya mean, _hep_?” Betty asked pointedly. She always found it embarrassing when Gladys used slang. It did sound a little odd, coming from someone with such a cut-glass accent, but Kate wished Betty would be less critical. She never sneered when Kate tried to use slang. She hadn’t so much as cracked a smile when Kate had referred to Billie Holiday as “some guy.” It was funny how people could be so critical in some situations and so forgiving in others.

Gladys proceeded, with a complete lack of irony, to define “hep.” “Hep. Nifty, interesting!”

Betty shook her head. “Why don’t you get us a drink, princess?”

Gladys beamed, pleased to be of assistance. “Sure.”

“I’ll help you, Gladys,” said Kate, bounding away after her friend.

The woman wearing a tie was standing at the bar, and Kate and Gladys ended up standing on either side of her. “You’re lookin’ good out there,” the woman said to Gladys.

“Same to you,” said Gladys easily. Kate suddenly envied Gladys her experience in parlours. Who would’ve known it would translate so well to smoky bars?

“Name’s Carla Prentiss. What’s yours, pretty lady?”

“I’m Gladys.” Kate couldn’t help but notice that Gladys didn’t include her last name. Gladys went on, “Kate here is my very dear friend and fellow floor worker at Vic Mu.”

Carla gave Kate a cordial nod. “You here with Betty?”

“Yes, we’re here with Betty.” Kate sounded rather breathless. “It’s so nice to meet one of Betty’s friends.”

“Well, it’s nice to meet you too, Red,” said Carla, kindly (if a little patronisingly, Kate couldn’t help but note). She turned back to Gladys. “What are you drinking?”

“I might ask you the same thing.” The bartender came to a halt in front of Gladys, who said, “I’ll have two G and T’s and a single malt whiskey, and for you, Carla?”

“A modern woman. I like it. I’ll have an Old Vienna, thanks, barkeep.” Carla leaned against the bar, giving Gladys an appraising look. “But I’m buying the next round, y’hear?”

“I wouldn’t dream of denying you that honour. Do come and sit with us, won’t you?”

Carla carried hers and Betty’s drinks back to their table, while Gladys took Kate’s and her own. Kate trailed along half a step behind them, feeling foolish. She felt slightly better when Betty met her gaze and raised her eyebrows significantly. There was something extremely gratifying about being part of a private look when you were feeling so out of place. “Kate, come sit by me!”

Kate gratefully took the stool next to Betty, watching from the corner of her eye as Carla and Betty exchanged pleasantries. Carla seemed more interested in chatting to Gladys about the band, though. Kate nudged the ice cubes around her glass, nodding in time to the music. Somehow, even with all that she had on her mind, she couldn’t think of a thing to say. As the seconds lengthened agonisingly into minutes, she couldn’t help feeling that she was shaming them, Gladys and Betty both, by being such a colossal wet blanket.

Betty leaned in so close that her breath tickled Kate’s ear. The sensation elicited a happy thrumming feeling, deep inside Kate. She couldn’t help but giggle. Betty asked, “How’re you liking it?”

“It’s wonderful!” Kate paused. “But I’m a little nervous.”

“Don’t worry, you’re doing great. I mean, you look just like a regular.”

 _She’s not sorry she brought me at all! And I’m not in the least sorry I came. Oh, Betty, I do love you._ Kate found Betty’s hand under the table and gave it a grateful squeeze.

After a moment, she became aware of a lull in the conversation, and realised that Carla and Gladys were looking at her and Betty. Betty met their gaze obstinately. Part of Kate wished she could do the same, but she ended up feeling, as she often did, that she really ought to apologise.

“Betty was just telling me about the regulars,” said Kate. “It’s a real swell place. I’d love to come here more often.”

“Well, I’m sure you will, darlin’,” said Carla. She glanced from Betty to Kate, and back again. “So, McRae, what everyone wants to know is, are you and Red here … musical?”

Finally, an opportunity for Kate to join the conversation! And not just to join the conversation, but to talk shop with another musician. Ignoring the fact that the question hadn’t been addressed to her, Kate piped up, “Oh, I am, but Betty’s not.”

For some reason, Carla just about fell off her bar stool laughing. Betty, who was in the process of swallowing a mouthful of whiskey, choked loudly. Gladys had to thump her on the back.

“Are you all right?” Gladys asked.

“I’m fine, I’m fine. It just went down the wrong pipe, that’s all,” gasped Betty. “Would you - quit fussing?”

Kate, thoroughly wrong-footed by Carla’s inexplicable giggling fit, decided to let it go. “I’ll fetch you a glass of water, Betty.”

However awkwardly it began, that night ended up being one of the loveliest of Kate’s life, which is why Kate completely forgot about that odd exchange until now, over a year later. She, Betty and Gladys are lounging around in Gladys’ apartment (it’s James’, really, but Kate has gotten used to thinking of it as Gladys’) after a Saturday dinner together.

These Saturday dinners have become something of a tradition since Kate came back to Toronto. Gladys always cooks, insisting she needs the practice. Her dishes are becoming steadily less ambitious, but a lot more edible. She also insists that Kate and Betty take turns doing the dishes, delighting in reminding them about the one occasion when she elected to wash up: “I leave you for three minutes and come back to find you necking like teenagers! I wash up three plates and a saucepan, and Kate gets her first hickey!”

Having finished the dishes, Betty wanders in, shaking water droplets off her wet hands. Gladys looks up from the _Muse_ magazine she’s thumbing through to ask, “What does it mean, to be musical?”

Betty blanchs at her. “Is this a philosophical question?”

“No, I mean that night we all went to Tangiers for the first time, to see Leon’s band play. Your friend Carla asked Kate if the two of you were musical. Somehow, I don’t think she was referring to Kate’s singing.”

Betty rolls her eyes. “Oh, come on, Gladys. Do I really have to say it?”

Gladys and Kate both look expectantly at her.

Betty sighs, sitting down beside Kate on the sofa. “It’s something people who are in the life say, when they want to ask if someone’s that way, or if two people are together, without being obvious.”

“Like a secret code. How clever.”

Betty rolls her eyes. “You would say that. You think life is one of your bloody detective movies.”

“Speaking of my bloody detective movies, _Shadow of the Thin Man_ starts in an hour at the Royal. What do you say the three of us go? Myrna Loy’s in it, and she is just stunning. Or there’s _Mrs Miniver,_ with Greer Garson.”

Betty rubs her temples. “What are you, a caller for the Royal? You can’t always twist my arm by mentioning the picture’s leading lady. In case you haven’t noticed, I’ve got one of those myself, now.”

“We’d love to,” says Kate.

Gladys claps her hands. “Wonderful!”

Betty groans. “You two are always outvoting me.”

“Please come? I don’t want to be the only girl there without a date,” says Kate imploringly, stroking the inside of Betty’s wrist.

Gladys gives a wry laugh. “Kate, I’ll leave you to work your magic on Betty.” She sails out to order them a taxi.

They settle on _Mrs Miniver._ Kate doesn’t really mind what they see, as long as she’s with her two favourite people. They sit on either side of Kate as the picture starts, Gladys burbling about how she can’t wait to see if the cinematography is as good as everyone says, and Betty teasing her by hissing, “Greer Garson talks like she has a mouthful of tacks…”

Kate shushes her, brimming with love – two very distinct kinds – for both of them. “Watch the movie,” she says gently, and chances giving Betty a light kiss on the cheek as the lights go down.

Gladys is right. It is a wonderful film. Even Betty, who finds it hard to sit through a movie, becomes absorbed, and only slips out for a smoke once. Kate’s heart gives a lurch at the line, _“But in war, time is so precious to the young people.”_ She is young, despite everything she’s been through, everything she’s lost and won. Yet it feels like she’s wasted so much time. She and Betty only just admitted how they felt four months ago, and they’ve only been a proper couple for three. They are still young, they’ve got the rest of their lives to make it right – in theory. Who can say how long that will be, when there’s a war on?

Kate finds herself holding both Gladys and Betty’s hands at the end, when the vicar gives his speech and the congregation sings _Onward Christian Soldier._ Gladys is using her free hand to dive into her purse for a hankie, whereas Betty just drags her sleeve across her eyes and frantically clears her throat. Sad as it is, Kate doesn’t cry. She’s done enough crying for a lifetime.

“It was marvellous!” As they descend the stairs from the foyer, Gladys jumps off from the second-to-last plush-carpeted step, grinning in victory as she makes a perfect landing despite her high heels. Kate can’t help but imagine her doing the same thing as a little girl, shouting for Carol to try hopping off a higher step. “Thank you so much for coming with me.”

Gladys always thanks them so effusively after excursions like this. She is their best friend and they are hers, no question, but there is another element to it. Kate knows how the war has cheated Gladys too. Her fiancé is far away, she doesn’t speak to her mother any more, even Carol Demers, her childhood best friend, has faded out of the picture somewhat.

“Thank _you_ for inviting us,” says Kate, and she feels impossibly proud when Betty is the one to initiate a goodbye hug with Gladys.

They get back late enough after the film that Kate is able to pull Betty straight into her room, without going through the complicated rigmarole of dressing for bed, shutting out their lights and waiting for what seems like years for the rooming house to fall asleep, so that Betty can slip downstairs or Kate can sneak up.

It is a welcome change of pace. Sitting down on her bed, Kate remarks, “This is nice, just bringing you in here. And there’s fewer stairs too. You should ask to get your room changed.”

Betty settles herself on a chair across the room, slipping off her shoes and socks before lighting a cigarette. “Somehow, I don’t think they’d accept ’Because I want to be able to get into my girlfriend’s room quicker and easier’ as a reason.”

“I’d accept it. I wouldn’t want to get in the way of true love.”

Betty smiles at her. “I wish you ran the rooming house, though I think your relaxed rules would be more than a little self-serving.”

Kate sighs. “Why did I ever leave here?”

They look at each other. They both know the reason. It’s a time in their lives neither one of them enjoys revisiting all that much.

Betty clears her throat. “I asked myself the same thing, for awhile. But honestly, I’m just glad you came back. No matter how perfect our old set-up would’ve been for visiting each other at night, the fact is this worked out better than I ever could’ve hoped for. I wanted you to come back, but that was just so I could be sure you’d be safe. I never thought you’d actually … want me too.”

Kate never thought so either. She’d shut off that part of herself for so long that she couldn’t identify any of her own feelings. Sometimes she gets sad or angry, thinking about how long she went without experiencing love, both the physical and emotional sides. She always thought it was off-limits to her. Love, sex, all of that was for people who were more confident, more careless, less godly, less damaged than Kate. She knows that Betty felt some of the same things, despite being so much more aware of what she wanted. She wishes they had found each other sooner.

That makes her think of something. “Betty?”

“Yeah?”

“You and Carla, from Tangiers. Were you and her ever together?” Kate tries not to sound jealous, because she’s not. She’s just curious. She knows Betty has more physical experience with women than she does (not that that would be difficult), but she tends to keep information about past loves quite close to her chest.

“Carla and me? Nope.” Betty exhales smoke, frowning. “Oh, lord. What’s Gladys been saying?”

“Gladys didn’t say anything. I just wondered, that’s all. Carla’s the only other person like us that I know you were acquainted with before we got together."

“We people-watched a few times together, at Tangiers. But no, I never dated her. That night she asked if we were together was the first time she really took an interest, and that’s because I walked in with two pretty girls.” She adds, “Besides, it’s not really the done thing for two pants-wearing ladies to date each other, Kate.”

“Oh.” Kate takes this in. “Why not?”

“It’s too queer, I guess. Too queer, even for the queers.”

“That’s silly. You’d still like me if I wore pants, wouldn’t you?”

“Sure would.”

“And I like you in dresses _and_ in pants.” Something dawns on Kate. “So that’s why you wear dresses when we go to Sandy Shores, but always pants when we go to Tangiers? So people won’t say we’re too queer?”

“Pretty much, yeah.”

“Why shouldn’t you wear pants at Sandy Shores, or a skirt at Tangiers? Why should you have to dress a certain way to date me?” Kate is growing annoyed. Annoyed at whom, she can’t rightly say, but it doesn’t change the way she feels. “People should mind their own business.”

“I know, Kate, but them’s the rules. You want us to have somewhere we can go and be ourselves, don’t you?”

“Of course I do.” It means the world to Kate, to have somewhere she and Betty can dance cheek to cheek, hold hands, flirt and kiss. Kate can’t let it go that easily, though. “But we’re both women, and we’re in love. You’d think other people like us would be able to understand that.”

“Sometimes it’s just not that simple, honey.” Getting to her feet, Betty stubs out her cigarette hard, as if that ends the matter.

“Yes, it is. I can prove it to you.”

“How?”

“Like this.” In one movement, Kate rises from the bed, crosses the room and kisses Betty full on the mouth, hard sweet and deep. Betty’s breath is warm, but her lips are still cold from outside. Betty’s hands fly to Kate’s waist, trying to steady herself, but it doesn’t stop her from stumbling backward a little, bumping into the bureau and setting the handles tinkling like windchimes. Usually, this would be the part where they break apart and listen – sometimes tensely, sometimes stifling giggles – for any sign they’ve been overheard, but there’s something beyond their need that’s driving them tonight. Kate winds her arms around Betty’s neck, pulling her closer. How wonderful it is, to fit against someone so perfectly.

Kate tries to say a lot of things with the kiss. That she loves Betty, body and soul, because Betty is someone who works hard and does what’s right, who cares for Kate as deeply as anyone ever has. That part of the reason she loves Betty is because Betty is a woman. It took Kate a long time to admit that to herself, but she got there in the end, and that’s what matters. She can love whoever she deems fit and, like Billie sings, t’ain’t nobody’s business if she does.

It seems her kiss was quite eloquent, in its own way, because when they finally break apart, Betty looks rather dazed, like she’s just had to take in a lot of information.

“Come to bed,” says Kate, a little awkwardly, because it wasn’t so long ago that all this was completely and utterly new to her. Betty looks at Kate like she just made the sun. She’s not sure who leads who over to Kate’s bed, but before long they’re utterly wrapped up in each other. Kate thinks she’d have a hard time stopping even if the entire rooming house came streaming into her room to gawk.

Kate makes love to Betty with a fervour she didn’t know she had. She’s taken the lead once or twice before, in the two months since they started sleeping together, but somehow it feels like the first time. She hopes she’s doing it right. She thinks she probably is, judging from the noises Betty tries in vain to keep from letting out when Kate presses increasingly insistent kisses to the tawny skin on Betty’s stomach.

She moves lower, settling herself between Betty’s legs. She pushes her hair back over her shoulder, looks up at Betty and whispers, “Can you stay quiet?” It’s a serious question. They’ve had several close calls before. There is a part of Kate, though, that just likes making Betty admit that she struggles to hold it together when Kate is touching her, the same way that Kate has to fight not to cry out when Betty’s lips brush a certain spot on her neck.

“I don’t know.”

“’Course you can,” says Kate, kissing Betty’s inner thigh like she would kiss Betty’s cheek. “I trust you.” She kisses Betty’s thigh again, only this one is higher up and further in and resembles a French kiss more than a cheek kiss.

Betty squirms. “I don’t know if I trust myself.”

Kate props her chin on her hand. “Well, I can stop if you want.”

Betty stares at her incredulously before laughing. “I’ll be quiet.”

“Promise?”

Betty scoffs at the thought. “I’m not making any promises on that score.”

“That’s probably for the best,” agrees Kate. She suddenly grows self-conscious, as she usually does at this juncture, and looks up at Betty. “Is this OK?” She tries not to feel too much self-loathing for draining the passion out of moments like these. It’s taken her a long time, a lifetime to get this far.

Betty starts to sit up. “If you don’t want to -“

“No,” says Kate. “I want to, I do, I just - is this OK?”

Betty understands. She nods slowly. “Yeah. It’s OK, Kate.”

Kate is shivering a little. At moments like these, she always has to make a conscious effort to remind herself that she can feel these sensations and it doesn’t make her someone else. Kate is a good Christian woman. She works hard for her living and for her country, believes in God with all her heart, and generally tries to be a credit to the people who love her. She also lives for these moments of stolen kisses and shuddering breaths, of locking eyes with the woman she loves and wanting to warm her until she glows. She has to fight every minute not to mentally link those statements about herself with a _but,_ or even worse, a _yet._ Kate is shaking with the effort of reminding herself, and with the cold, and also because Betty is so beautiful and she wants so much to please her that she feels like she might come apart at any second.

“All right,” she says, because Betty is looking concerned, and that’s not what Kate wants right now.

Kate starts kissing Betty _there,_ where she needs it most. The kissing turns to licking pretty quickly as she tastes deeper and deeper. She wants to notice everything, remember everything about the way Betty moves and tastes, the way Betty is late at night when they’re alone, with nothing between them any more. Her eyes are closed so she can focus, but she senses a change in the air around them which is obviously every single one of Betty’s muscles uncoiling. When Kate hears the bed creak softly and Betty breathe, “Oh, Kate…” she aches inside as if she’s being kissed _there_ too. Kate is not shivering any more.

Kate is still learning, though. Sometimes, she loses track of the rhythm, and Betty quietens, grows still, moans at being thwarted when she was so close, as Kate finds it again. When Kate doesn’t quite know what she’s doing, making love to Betty feels like running downhill with her eyes closed. She wants it to be perfect for her, to make up for everything bad that’s ever happened to them, separately or together. Kate has a feeling that’s probably not a good way of thinking about it, but she supposes that’s another thing she’ll learn about, in time.

Maybe she loses the rhythm sometimes, but she’s a quick study in other ways. Betty pushes her hips up, grinding against Kate’s searching, teasing lips and tongue. Kate knows that doesn’t mean “lick harder,” not unless Betty says so. It means she likes what Kate is doing. Kate didn’t know that a month ago. She knows that there are some people who don’t expect her to be a quick study, or any sort of study at all, when it comes to pleasuring her girlfriend.

Sometimes, people at Tangiers tell horror stories about what it is to go down on a woman, gleefully recounting the stories of their first times. Phrases like “gag reflex” are brought up a lot. It made Kate’s heart pound with terror the first time she went down on Betty – not because she was particularly afraid of it being disgusting, but because she was terrified she would mess it up and Betty would never let her try again. She was thrilled to find that, as fumbling and fraught as her first attempts were, not one bit of her rose in revolt. She revelled in it, the sheer sensory overload of making love to another person, another woman, the woman she loves. Kate will never be the type to announce it to an entire bar, but she knows she’s on her way to being a good lover. She’s got all the raw material she needs. Being softly spoken and wearing dresses doesn’t have a thing to do with it.

As Betty’s body starts to tense up again, her hand drifts lazily down to rest on Kate’s head. She doesn’t pull Kate’s hair (Kate’s been quite clear about not liking that), she just rubs the top of Kate’s hair, near her parting. Kate hums ecstatically into Betty. When Betty starts touching Kate’s hair, it usually means she’s close.

“Kate, please … like that … _please_ … God, I’m gonna-”

Betty’s hips lift right up off the bed as she comes with a gasp. A spasm runs right through her body and she clutches the sheets in both fists. Kate keeps licking her, all through her climax, as she rocks and moans and eventually sighs, because she knows that’s what Betty likes. _I know what my girl likes,_ thinks Kate, elated and overflowing with love and yes, even pride. She can be proud of this.

They are quiet for a minute or two as they recover. Eventually, Kate gets onto her hands and knees, feeling almost dizzy. She crawls up toward the head of the bed, and nudges Betty. “Make room,” she says. Betty obliges, allowing Kate to curl up behind her, pulling Betty to herself with one arm and glorying in the feel of so much skin on skin. “Told you,” says Kate, nuzzling into Betty’s shoulder.

“Huh?”

“That you didn’t have to be a man to love a woman. Boy, is your face ever red.”

“’S pitch black in here, you can’t see my face.”

“I’m still right, though.”

“You sure settled my hash,” says Betty, yawning. “I’ll never doubt you again.”

Kate strokes Betty’s stomach absently, feeling the softness of invisible hairs. “Will you stay?” Kate murmurs hopefully.

At this, Betty shifts a little. She’s trying to wake herself up. “You know people will talk if I sleep over.” Betty sounds as rueful as Kate feels.

Kate bites her lip. “I wish you could stay.”

“I’ll stay ’til you fall asleep. Which will probably be the death of us both, since I’m two minutes away from dropping off myself.”

 _Then I’ll turn on the light and stay up until dawn,_ thinks Kate rebelliously, but her limbs are heavy and she finds her eyes fluttering shut. She decides to just enjoy the feeling of drifting off to sleep with Betty in her arms for as long as she’s conscious. “I always love how we fit together,” she mumbles indistinctly.

“Go to sleep,” says Betty. After a moment’s pause, she adds, “I love you.”

Kate doesn’t quite manage to sleep through Betty extricating herself from her embrace. She wakes up as Betty slips out from under her arm, and watches under her eyelashes as Betty dresses in the dark, tiptoes to the door, and lets herself out. She turns over to lie on her back and thinks wistfully about how big and cold her single bed seems without Betty in it.

She can’t get despondent. They’ll have a house someday, and there’ll be no more sneaking around. She knows she’s tempting fate, looking forward to the future, but sometimes fate can be a good thing. She reminds herself of that, and that helps her fall asleep.

Morning comes. Kate rises, washes up, does her hair and walks to church with the other believers from the rooming house, clutching her best patent handbag. These nights she spends with Betty are beginning to feel less like dreams, and that helps her remember that she is all one person now. She is not attending church to atone for her sins, she’s here to thank God for everything he’s given her – including the woman she loves.

When she exits after the service, she spies a blonde head at the foot of the church steps and feels her heart leap. Betty is standing with her hands buried in her pockets, in an exaggeratedly casual pose utterly at odds with the fact that Kate knows how anxious Betty feels around churches.

“I was out buyin’ the paper, and I thought you might like someone to walk you home from church,” calls Betty, by way of a greeting.

The other rooming house women avert their eyes as if she and Betty are about to embrace. Kate can’t kiss her on the mouth, the way she wants to, or even on the cheek, really. Not in broad daylight. But Kate can find other ways, a million ways, to show Betty how much she loves her.

“ _Living for you is easy living, it’s easy to live when you’re in love,_ ” sings Kate, as Betty saunters over. “Why, good morning, Miss McRae. How’d you sleep?”

“Like a rock. How’re you this morning?”

“Positively musical,” says Kate, grinning from ear to ear.


End file.
